


Heat by the Riverside

by CrazyPierrsonMan



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Games)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Swearing, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 13:31:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14619600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyPierrsonMan/pseuds/CrazyPierrsonMan
Summary: Seeking the artifact of a mythical creature native to Trinidad and Tobago, Larson and Pierre enlist the help of the Cowboy. But things start going downhill when Pierre shows attraction to their old friend. What tales will be told at this journey's end? And what manner of steamy liaison awaits the trio at the riverside?





	Heat by the Riverside

**Author's Note:**

> This one was a LONG TIME coming. I started drafting it back in February as a "Pierre sucks Larson's dick" piece. Since then, it's undergone multiple revisions, including a scrapped idea involving meeting the Cowboy in an Arizona motel, and gay cowboy porn. It's obviously changed a lot since then, and I must say that I'm very pleased with the end result.
> 
> By the way, you might notice a familiar name from "Tactics of an Odd Kind of Love" that takes prominence in this fic!

“…’N legend says,” the man in the ten-gallon hat finished, “She can still be found bathin’ in the moonlight on warm summer nights.”

Larson, still enthralled, asked again, “’N just how pretty is she?”

Chuckling, the cowboy shook his head, taking his black hat off his head to wipe the sweat from his brow. Beneath thinning black bangs was a hardened, rugged face, sporting a mustache and dark stubble.

Fanning himself with his hat, he replied, “As pretty as a lady with a big old snake tail can get, I guess.”

The setting sun beat down on the treetops, shafts of its light filtering down into the forest below. Animals chittered and cooed around the trio, curious but cautious. The humid heat was intense around the men as they carefully made their way through the forests of Trinidad, avoiding the trees’ roots and natural detritus as they pressed onward.

For Pierre, the heat was nearly unbearable. Wisely, he had chosen to abandon his leather jacket and navy waistcoat at the hotel. There was no one here to impress, so comfort was at the forefront—yet he couldn’t help but feel he was _still_ overdressed. His heavy canvas pants and white dress shirt were sticking to him in places they really ought not to.

Clearing his throat, Pierre gasped, “And you said it would be another two hours before the campsite, Monsieur Wystan?”

Placing his hat back on his head, the cowboy laughed and responded, “Sheesh, Pierre, you’ve known me how long? That’s Dwight to you.”

Rolling his eyes as he reluctantly plodded onward behind the other two men, he sighed. “ _Oui,_ and this does not answer my question. When do we reach this ‘open area’ you promised?”

Larson guffawed lightly and softly elbowed Pierre in the arm. “Aw, don’t be mean to Dwight just ‘cause you think he’s cute!”

It was Dwight’s turn to laugh now, and Pierre felt his face burn red as he trudged past the others wordlessly.

“I am just _concerned_ about finding Mama D’Leau and her pendant!” Pierre huffed, gaze fixed straight ahead.

Dwight shook his head again and shrugged. It’d be nice, he reflected, if Pierre _or_ Larson—or, if he wanted to be greedy, why not both?—liked him in that way. It had been too long since he’d been able to spend time with a human being in a romantic manner… After the Natla job, his girlfriend at the time up and left him, citing that she couldn’t take him seriously anymore if he kept this line of employment.

When Larson had rung him up last week, saying they needed ‘One of them monster hunters to find a treasure,’ that big fight he’d had with his ex had come flooding back. The wound had been prodded at, and the loneliness was palpable. Nonetheless, Dwight had agreed; after all, he knew Larson and Pierre to be good on their word—to him, at least.

“Heeey…” Larson murmured, readjusting the rectangular backpack on his back, “Y’alright in there, Arizona? Ya never answered Pierre’s question, y’know.”

Blinking rapidly, Dwight responded, “Campsite’s just…” Pausing, he checked his watch, “…an hour away yet. I reckon we’re makin’ good time.”

Groaning audibly, Pierre straightened his back, determined to find the riverside campground before he soaked his white dress shirt gray.

 

***

 

Pierre had nearly ripped the backpack off of Larson, squatting down in a comically intense fashion as he unzipped and unbuckled it to remove their pop-up tent. He paid no attention to the beautiful view of the river several meters away from the campsite; sweat poured down his brow, and when he lifted his arms, the stains were obvious.

Sighing in relief, he pulled the clear plastic package free of its place in the backpack, and immediately set to pitching the tent. Shuffling slowly, Larson neared the tent with the accompanying iron stakes in hand, but Pierre shooed him away, hissing, “ _Merci, mon cher,_ his is something I can do _myself.”_

Backing away, Larson set the stakes down and started off away from the clearing, citing that he was going to seek kindling for the fire in the forest. This left Dwight standing alone, suppressed smile on his face, trying not to laugh at the lover’s quarrel.

He surveyed the campsite for any signs that it had been disturbed, but it seemed that it was as he had last found it. Four large stones for seating were circled around a firepit, which itself was ringed by smaller stones. Stout, blackened logs sat in a pile of ash, proof of fires lit by previous adventurers, but nothing out of the ordinary to the naked eye.

Satisfied that all ways well, Dwight kneeled slowly and reached inside of the pack Larson was carrying. Feeling around the inside, he found suitable rations for the night. Water purification tablets, a can of pork and beans, a package of jerky, and Saran-wrapped dehydrated carrots… It’d make a decent meal, he wagered, and set it aside as he sought his actual prize.

Shuffling through some personal effects of the couple—which he chose not to take too hard of a look at—he found what he’d been seeking. A silver Zippo lighter emblazoned with a horse’s face. It was his good luck charm, something his ex-girlfriend had given him for his birthday years ago.

As he kneeled in the dirt by the unlit campfire, he felt someone’s gaze on him. It was Pierre, having unbuttoned his shirt, lightly-haired chest free in the warm summer air. Their modest tent was set up appropriately, but the stakes needed to be driven into the ground yet.

A mild curiosity in his eyes, Pierre stated, “That is a lovely lighter.”

He stepped over toward Dwight, and squatted down next to him, this time without the rush of a frenzy.

“Where did you get this?” Pierre asked plainly.

Dwight shrugged, a wry smile on his lips. “That part ain’t too important. What it does, though, is.”

Thoughtfully, Pierre rested his right elbow on his knee, running his fingers through his goatee. His eyes rested on Dwight’s jawline, before their gazes locked shortly after.

Licking his lips, a flash of desire creeped its way down Dwight’s spine, but closing his eyes for a moment, he willed it away. Pierre was a taken man, and Larson would, in all likelihood, beat the shit out of him if he caught him looking at Pierre like this.

Instead, he reopened his eyes, cleared his throat, and continued, “Well see, this here Zippo is a portent of good luck. Every time I use her on the first fire of a trip, I usually find what I’m lookin’ for. Or least a part of it.”

Eyes widening slightly, the corners of Pierre’s mouth turned down and he nodded. He was just reflecting on an appropriate response, when a resounding _“WHOA NOW!”_ echoed throughout the campgrounds.

It was Larson, eyes wide and mouth agape. In his arms were dry branches in varying sizes, and he seemed to nearly drop them in shock.

“Now what in the _hell_ are you doin’ with my man there, Dwight? You try’na hit on my sweetheart?”

Eyes narrowing, Dwight stood up abruptly, preparing to say something…

…Before Larson cut him off with a hearty laugh.

Dwight’s eyes widened, then his brow furrowed, then he sighed and shut his eyes, laughing through his nose.

“Larson,” Pierre began as he stood to join the other two, “Perhaps we’d best save the jokes for after dinner, ah?”

Nodding, Larson agreed, a cheeky grin still on his lips.

 

***

 

The night began with Dwight lighting the campfire with his trusty silver Zippo.

Dinner was made and eaten, dishes were washed, and the silver moon had risen in full. Seated securely on the flat-topped stones around the fire, the trio reminisced awhile about the Natla job, then segued into swapping stories of past adventures, and finally, started discussing the future of Pierre and Larson’s relationship.

Marriage may or may not have been on the table, it seemed. And when Dwight, out of morbid curiosity, pushed the subject further, the boyfriends turned red in the face while poorly-concealed smiles spread across their faces. They poked at one another while pondering where they should go, what venue to set, who to invite—before Pierre sighed and gave an uncharacteristically goofy grin.

“In truth,” he began, “It is hard to think of the future in this heat. Right now, let us focus solely on the artifact, _comprends?”_

Larson nodded in agreement, and Dwight was relieved to have the conversation steered away from the subject altogether. Instead, he chose to stand and leave the fire.

“I’m gonna go wash up. Contrary to popular belief,” he began, “I don’t fancy being sweaty ‘n sticky if I don’t have to be.”

With that, Dwight disappeared into their tent. leaving the other two men alone. As he undid his orange ascot, he heard Pierre gripe about the heat once more. Removing his tan vest, he could hear Larson apparently point out the fact that, years ago, Pierre had taken his leather jacket with him to _Greece,_ whether it was autumn then or not.

Unbuttoning his black long-sleeved shirt at the cuffs, then the front, he whistled lowly as his skin was exposed to the warm humid air. Reaching a hand up slightly, he straightened the sparse hair on his broad, toned stomach before sitting down to unzip and pull off his black boots.

The quip about leather jackets in Greece seemed to be as long-running joke between the two, as outside the tent, Pierre huffed and pointed out that _Larson_ had worn jeans to _Egypt…_ and Larson retorted that he was used to wearing heavy pants in hot weather, due to being from Arkansas and all.

Boots and socks both off, Dwight stood and removed his brown leather belt, falling to the ground with a _clink._ Unbuttoning and unzipping his faded gray jeans, the cowboy stood free and proud in nothing but his blue-striped white boxers… and his black hat—which he promptly removed and tossed onto the pile of discarded clothes.

With half his body poking out of the tent, Dwight stopped and cast his gaze out over the campsite. It was then he had realized that the conversation between his companions had stopped right around the time his belt buckle made contact with the tent floor. The fire crackled as Pierre averted his gaze into the depths of the forest, lips pursed tightly shut, hands repeatedly smoothing the knees of his pants.

Dwight stepped fully out of the tent, nearly nude body illuminated by the firelight. He stood still and stared at the two, before his green eyes met Larson’s hazel.

Larson stared at Dwight, an imperceptible look on his face. Dwight bristled as he felt Larson shift his eyes up and down Dwight’s strong body, sizing him up, seeming to look for a weakness.

Slowly, carefully, and with as little emotion in his voice as he could muster, Dwight said, “I’m off to the river. Take care now, boys.”

Nonchalantly, he turned away from the two… and felt Larson still staring at him.

Dwight tried his hardest not to pay attention to what the other men were doing as he walked off, but he swore he heard Larson whisper, _“_ Maybe we just gotta find a way to keep yer mind off of the heat, Boss…?”

 

***

 

“ _Goddamn,_ I didn’t expect this little outing to go sour…” Dwight mumbled to himself as he stepped up onto the beach. He attempted to shake the water off of his arms and legs, hoping to be able to go right into the tent and head to sleep. A dour look painted itself on his face as he admitted to himself that no amount of shaking and flicking was going to dry him like sitting by the fire would.

Pierre was a harlot, Larson was pissed, they were going on mere scraps of folklore—what was the point in going on? Was the money worth all this?

Bending down, Dwight picked his boxers off the ground and put them back over his ankles, before pulling them back on his waist. The one thing he was banking on, at this point, was his trusty silver Zippo not letting them down, and hopefully they’d find at least some sort of _proof_ that Mama D’Leau was real. After all, dinosaurs were in the Congo and a minotaur once attacked Cairo. Who’s to say a snake-woman didn’t exist?

Heading back to camp, he decided his next course of action would be to diffuse the tensions between the three of them. After all, they were good buddies, and professionals on top of that. Why couldn’t they just rationally work this out like the adults they were?

That in mind, Dwight had a spring in his step as he drew closer to the light of the fire. He noted that the others were silent still, so his first tactic surely should’ve been to start up a conversation and break the ice…

As he concocted ways to make his painfully ordinary bath sound otherwise interesting, his thoughts were interrupted by Larson’s voice.

_“Fuck…”_

And soon after that, a low moan.

Instantly, Dwight felt his ears start to burn. He knew that he shouldn’t turn the corner around the tent; he ought to head back to the beach, not press onward, and not interrupt what he knew had to be happening.

But something drove him forward.

He wanted to name it curiosity, but he knew this feeling all too well.

 _Desire_.

Quietly, he crept forward knowing he was in full view of the two, engaged in… whatever act he was about to see.

Pierre, shirt still open, had rolled up his sleeves. He kneeled in the dirt, and Dwight could see that his boots and pants were off entirely. His bare ass was exposed to the night, firelight shining on his beautiful behind. A part of Dwight registered that Pierre apparently liked wearing jockstraps.

On Larson’s end, he had only removed his leather vest, still fully clothed except for one detail—his jeans were unzipped, his stiff cock standing tall. Pierre had tilted his head to one side, tongue running across the length of Larson’s shaft.

Larson’s legs were spread open on the stone seat to allow Pierre more room to settle in between them. Pierre’s right arm wrapped itself around Larson’s waist, while his free hand rubbed at the tightened pouch of his underwear.

Dwight licked his lips as his eyes drank in a tantalizing sight, watching Pierre envelop his mouth around his lover’s dick, working himself down to the base of the thick tool before bobbing back up to lap at the pre-cum flowing from the head.

It was then that Larson looked up from Pierre’s diligent effort, and he stared up into Dwight’s eyes. Wordlessly, he glanced downward at the growing tent in Dwight’s boxers and grinned.

“Betcha wish this was you, don’tcha?”

Pierre’s ears reddened as he shut his eyes, but his ministrations remained diligent. He was entirely too entranced by Larson’s cock, bobbing up and down as he sucked on his boyfriend’s dick like it was his favorite thing to have in his mouth—and a surge of lust found its way to Dwight’s cock as he realized, it probably _was_.

Gulping, he nodded steadily at Larson’s question, reaching down to cup the fully-erect cock in his underwear, his pre-cum beginning to stain the front of them. Rubbing gently at his bulge, he shamelessly stared at the scene, pupils wide and pleading.

Larson laughed lightly, and replied, “If ya c’mon over here, it can be. Take off them boxers and come sit by me, hot stuff.”

Pierre opened his eyes again, going wide as he reluctantly pulled his lips off of Larson’s dick. “A-are you certain, _mon amour?_ ”

Looking back down at his lover, Larson ran a hand through Pierre’s hair.

“I ain’t gonna lie; I been wantin’ to see this guy naked since I met him, babe.”

Pierre chuckled and kissed the tip of Larson’s cock, and replied, “Then let me suck you both.”

With that, Dwight spared not a minute more in joining Larson. Sitting down next to him on the stone seat, he yanked down his boxers and tossed them in the general direction of the tent. His leaking cock ached for attention, and Pierre pulled himself away from his boyfriend’s thighs and crawled forward toward Dwight.

For a moment, green and brown eyes locked, Pierre seeking the lust in Dwight’s eyes. But the moment faded, and Pierre lowered his mouth down onto his friend’s dick, tongue lapping up sweet pre-cum as he did.

“Now ain’t that a pretty sight,” Larson mused aloud as he himself began to disrobe.

Dwight paid little attention to Larson stripping down, instead reaching a hand up to pat Pierre’s head, hands running through gorgeous silky hair—which, he noticed, seemed to be flecked with errand strands of gray—as Pierre’s mouth bottomed out at the end of his shaft, sucking gently. Sticking out his tongue as he deep-throated, he ran its tip on as much of Dwight’s balls as he could reach.

Groaning, Dwight threw his head back, eyes screwing shut as he lifted his right hand to join his left in Pierre’s hair, running his fingers through sweat-dampened locks. He spread his legs wide, colliding with Larson’s now-bare hairy legs. Bringing his head back down, he looked over to see Larson had tossed his clothes aside, now fully naked with his impressive cock still hard as steel. He grinned as he leaned in to kiss Dwight, Pierre reaching his right hand up to stroke at his lover’s cock while he greedily licked and sucked their friend’s.

It was a curious feeling to rove his hands across a body as hairy as Larson’s, his well-muscled chest and back both coated in a soft golden fur. Dwight hadn’t had much experience with men, and now, as his and Larson’s tongues clashed, he faced the fact that his horizons were certainly being broadened.

Larson’s hand moved in an overt and lecherous way, massaging Dwight’s shoulder, then sliding down a strong, broad back—then down to his ass, where he groped and grabbed at his beefy cheeks intently. Leaning more into the kiss, his hands still in Pierre’s hair, Dwight sighed contentedly.

Suddenly, Larson began to giggle and pulled away. Pierre stopped what he was doing and, after pulling his mouth off of Dwight’s cock, raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, it’s—yer mustache,” Larson began, smile still on his face, “It tickles, y’know.”

Pierre stated flatly, “You have no problem with my goatee.”

Larson shrugged, mumbling something about Pierre’s facial hair being more kempt.

As he processed the conversation, Dwight began to laugh himself. Bringing his left hand to his side, he slapped his knee.

 “Dammit, you boys are a riot!” he exclaimed.

A small smile forming on his lips, Pierre’s eyes narrowed as he craned his head down again to lap at the head of Dwight’s cock, causing the laughter to be cut off by a quiet moan.

“Ain’t no time fer laughin’, Arizona. You got the world’s best cocksucker on yer knob!” Larson rumbled quietly. “Don’t disrespect my man’s love fer dick. Just enjoy it.”

Shooting a glance at Larson, Dwight gulped, and began to mumble an apology. It was then that Larson got up up and stood over Pierre as he sucked the pre-cum off of the head of Dwight’s cock.

“Or maybe,” Larson began, kneeling down, “My French-kisser needs some help French-kissin’ this quite impressive tool ya got here.”

Pierre made room for Larson, looking up at him. Moaning as he tenderly kissed their friend’s shaft, he fumbled with the side of his jockstrap pouch, pulling his own throbbing erection from it confines.

As Larson lowered himself to his knees, all Dwight could think was _‘Hot damn,’_ his mouth gaping wide in shock as Larson stuck out his tongue to lick at his balls while Pierre worked his dick.

Hands shaking, he placed his left hand in golden hair and his right on dark brown. Larson focused himself on helping Pierre wrap his tongue around Dwight’s cock, their tongues meeting as if to kiss around the throbbing erection.

Dwight was going to lose it. He was going to blow his load on their tongues right then and there, and it was going to be the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life. If he died on this damn expedition—well, he’d call it a life well-lived, if only for this moment.

Which is why he nearly yelled when Pierre pulled himself away, leaving Larson to close his mouth around the thick cock they had shared. Gazing up in alarm—had something gone wrong?—Pierre cleared his throat as he pulled off his white dress shirt.

“Perhaps it would behoove us to move inside the tent? I believe the both of you would rather see me on my back,” he stated, haphazardly folding the shirt and tucking it under his arm.

Pulling away from Dwight’s slick cock, Larson perked up, and shouted, “Aw, hell yeah, Boss! Camp-side sex? I’m all for it!”

Dwight extended a hand to his prone friend to help him up, and upon standing, Pierre pulled down the waistband of his jockstrap. The three nude men stood in the firelight, taking a shared moment of lust to appreciate one another’s bodies.

With a steady haste, they found themselves in the security of the tent. Pierre was on his back, legs in the air, as Larson dove his tongue deep inside of his lover’s hole. Rimming was an entirely new experience to Dwight, yet it was strangely… arousing, he decided, and quietly stroked himself as he watched Pierre order Larson to stretch his asshole out with his fingers.

“Y’know, boys,” Dwight gasped, as he wiped sweat off his brow with his left hand, “I think I’d be damn happy if I just bust a nut watching you guys bang.”

Pierre turned his head to face him, caressing his friend’s body with his eyes, and licked his lips. “ _Mon ami,_ it would—” he paused, grunting as Larson’s fingers brushed against his prostate, “—it would be a disservice to not allow you proper use of my hole. And so…” he began, turning his face to Larson, their eyes meeting.

Larson nodded, and said to Dwight, “You go first.”

Dwight’s brow furrowed, and he stopped jacking his dick as he took the time to process the meaning behind the lovers’ words. Pierre wasted no time in filling the silence, a wanton whine in his normally even-toned voice.

“Come and fuck me, Dwight. It’s—it’s as if I’m in heat. I need more cowboy cock than Larson alone can give. _N'est-ce pas?”_

Larson sat up, and interjected, “That’s how we’re doin’ it. I don’t bottom fer no one but Pierre ‘cause no one can do it right but him. ‘N trust me, I can tell when he ain’t feelin’ like bein’ on top—call it queer intuition,” he laughed.

Pierre closed his legs slightly, reaching his hands between his legs to slip a finger inside his slick hole. Both men’s eyes were focused on Dwight as Larson continued.

“And I’m guessin’,” he paused, looking at Dwight’s beefy chest, “A guy like you don’t care fer havin’ his butt played with much.”

Dwight huffed upward, feeling the breath pass his black mustache, as a smile creeped across his face. Was he _that_ readable?

Shrugging, he responded, “Well, ya got me pegged. If I’m up to bat first—well, let’s hope you like my shot, Pierre.”

Pierre laughed, replying, “As I have said to Larson: make me feel _très fantastique, mon ami.”_

They all laughed, then, but the laughter faded as Dwight crawled between Pierre’s legs, and Larson moved aside to enjoy the show. There was a tension in the air, a hot friction that zapped their skin and electrified their lustiness like an aphrodisiac.

Grabbing the backs of his knees with both hands, Pierre stared at Dwight as he took hold of his cock and guided it into Pierre’s asshole, rubbing the slick head against his entrance for a moment, and pressed himself inside.

“Fuuuck yeah,” Larson groaned, watching his beloved get penetrated by another man.

In the corner of the tent, he spied Dwight’s pile of clothes, and reached over to grab the black hat. None the wiser, Dwight gasped and grunted as he seated himself fully inside Pierre’s tight ass, Pierre’s eyes closed tight as an unfamiliar dick invaded his insides.

Sneaking behind Dwight—accidentally poking him in the rear with his erection in the process—Larson placed his friend’s hat back on his head.

Dwight looked in confusion back at Larson, who had made his way toward the side of Pierre’s head.

“Hey Pierre,” Larson began, “Why don’tcha look up.”

Pierre turned his head to look at Larson, first, then spied Dwight clad in nothing but his ten-gallon hat.

 _“Mon dieu,”_ he exhaled unsteadily.

The way Pierre looked at him drove Dwight mad; he bit down on his lip and pulled his cock back until just the head was still inside Pierre, before thrusting back in forcefully.

Pierre moaned, his head falling back, and he murmured, “Fuck me, cowboy. Fuck me like I’m your saloon slut.”

Larson chuckled, and replied, “He weren’t kiddin’ when he said he needed cowboy cock. Play it up if ya wanna see him get _real_ wild.”

Shooting a glance over at his boyfriend, Pierre opened his mouth to give a witty retort, but found the head of Larson’s cock at his lips instead. Instead of a comeback, he darted his tongue out to lick the oozing pre-cum off of the head of Larson’s dick, taking it into his mouth and sucking with greed and abandon.

“That’s right, Boss,” Larson began, “Yer gonna get all the cowboy cock you need. Yer gonna get two loads up that tight hole of yers. We been workin’ on the ranch all day long and need to relieve some stress. So we’re gonna beat that hole up with our dicks, got it?”

Pierre moaned around Larson’s big dick, taking it deeper, nodding, groaning as his hands flew down to his own throbbing erection to stroke at it desperately.

Dwight was quiet at first, diligently fucking Pierre as he watched him suck Larson off. He didn’t expect Pierre to want to be… _used_ like that. Was this a normal routine in the bedroom? Did Pierre get called a ‘saloon slut’ every time he took dick?

He was at a loss at what to say. It wasn’t exactly usual for him to degrade his lovers like that. Attempting to stop his voice from breaking, Dwight cleared his throat.

“You’ve been a… real bad boy, Pierre,” he began, steadily thrusting deep into Pierre’s ass. “I saw you lookin’ at me, even though you’re a taken man.” Role-play was most decidedly not his forte. But it wasn’t as though it he was lying, so maybe it sounded authentic enough.

“Yep, and this’s what whores like you get, Pierre,” Larson continued. “They get just what they _need.”_ He thrust back into Pierre’s mouth as he bobbed up and down on his shaft, softly fucking his lover’s face, his balls slapping into Pierre’s cheek.

“Poundin’ a slut like you is just what I need after a long day’s work,” Dwight added, grinning wildly. Pierre opened his eyes, looking up at Dwight best he could with his mouth occupied by a horny Larson.

Larson looked up at Dwight then, too, and gave his own grin—a seal of approval, an urge to tell him to keep going. Nodding slightly, Dwight looked back down and Pierre.

“I’m gonna breed your hole, boy,” he affirmed. “I’m gonna cum right up in this hole and watch your man get my sloppy seconds. Maybe we should take you back to the, uh, ranch,” he paused, trying to keep straight the narrative that Larson had set, “And make you service our cocks every day.”

That was enough for Pierre. He quickened his strokes and, eyes going shut, blew his load, cumming across his chest in strong bursts, a drop even finding its way onto his chin. His hole tightened around Dwight’s cock, and he knew he was close himself. He began to thrust in harder, trying to dick Pierre down with the entire force of his hips, his eyes screwed shut and he emptied what felt like all of his pent-up sexual frustration into Pierre’s ass.

As Dwight panted, Larson whistled low, pulling his cock from Pierre’s mouth. Dwight thrust roughly a few more times into Pierre’s hole, trying to push his thick semen deeper inside. He wanted to stay like this until he went soft, wanted to hold Pierre in his arms and kiss him and snuggle next to him… but those desires were brushed away when Pierre spoke up.

“Larson,” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the throat-fucking he’d just accepted, “Give me your cum too, _mon amour.”_

Dwight made it a point to not show reluctance as he pulled his softening member out of Pierre’s hole, backing away as Larson eagerly moved to replace him. But he soon decided it was ample payment to see Larson push his cock up Pierre’s cum-slicked ass, lowering his legs onto his tall lover’s shoulders.

The role-play had seemingly evaporated. He was no longer watching the scene of two burly cowboys manhandle a Frenchman, but one man making love to another. Larson’s strokes inside of Pierre were deep and deliberate, the way they gazed into each other’s eyes speaking volumes of the way they cared for one another.

It was a passion play, a mixture of love and lewdness that made Dwight mirthful and envious all at once. His cum acting as lube gave each thrust a soft wet sound, Pierre groaning slightly as his cock began to harden again.

Leaning down, Larson licked the cum off his beloved’s chin, bringing their tongues to clash in a soft and delicate kiss, their lips smacking together softly and gently. Larson increased the speed of his pace, fucking Pierre harshly enough that his body jumped with every thrust.

“Baby, I’m gonna shoot inside of you,” Larson grunted, wrapping his arms around Pierre’s shoulders, and Pierre responded in kind, his legs finding themselves wrapped around Larson’s waist.

“Do it, then,” Pierre gasped, “Give me a second load, Larson.”

He groaned loud then, burying his head down in the crook of Pierre’s neck, some shallow thrusts following his orgasm as he came.

 

***

 

It was quiet again.

The gravity of what had just happened was finally weighing itself in on Dwight. They all sat up, and Dwight couldn’t find it in himself to look at his friends. It felt like he’d intruded on a private relationship, like he’d been a big experiment or a last hurrah. The sooner they found this damn cryptid and her pendant, the sooner he’d be able to put this all behind him and never have to see Pierre or Larson again.

He heard someone clear their throat, and involuntarily looked their way.

It was Pierre. He stood—probably clenching his ass tight so he didn’t leak cum all over the tent floor—and leaned down, planting a kiss on Dwight’s cheek.

“ _Mon ami_ ,” he began, smiling as he stood back, “That was quite the pleasant time you showed me. _Merci beaucoup!_ ”

Sheepishly, Dwight looked up, pulling his black hat back off of his head. He tried to think of how to reply, but no words came to mind.

“The next time we meet, we will do this again, ah? Larson?” Pierre looked Larson’s way, a blissful smile of contentment on his lips.

“Hell yeah. Let’s do a full-on man-train next time. I’m talkin’ a Pierre Sandwich,” he said, standing up to join Pierre next to Dwight.

“Whatcha say, handsome?” he finished, winking as he leaned in to kiss Dwight on the cheek as well.

As Larson pulled away, Dwight stammered, “Uh, w-well, I’d certainly not object.”

Pierre exhaled sharply, smiling himself, and said, “Then it is settled, _non?_ You two stay and talk awhile; I believe it is my time to bathe. Cum is a favorite substance of mine, but it does not agree with fabrics.”

Appreciating Pierre’s behind as he left the tent, Larson sat back down, stretching his spine up and grunting softly before he reclined down on his back.

“Y’know,” he began, eyes staring at the ceiling, “I really did have a lotta fun tonight, Arizona. But… if yer wantin’ to find somethin’ a li’l more meaningful…” Pangs of uncertainty filled his voice as he trailed off. He sighed, trying to think of the right way to phrase what he wanted to say.

All Dwight could think of was to stare at Larson. Who in their right mind would want to be with a cryptid hunter? Who in the world would want to commit to someone who was dedicated to searching for mythic creatures?

He didn’t _voice_ these thoughts, of course. It seemed rather… inappropriate to criticize someone you’d just had an amazing three-way with.

Instead, Dwight asked, “What do you think I should be doin’, then?”

Larson shrugged, and replied, “I dunno. Pierre says there’s lots of these internet pages where all kinds of guys can meet up. Might be worth lookin’ into.”

Dwight guffawed heartily, which faded into a sigh. Sexual relief was much appreciated, but he knew that what he needed was emotional companionship, someone to take things day by day with.

“Yeah,” he agreed. Rubbing his lips together, Dwight continued evenly, “Yeah, it’s worth a shot, I guess. Findin’ love’s just like any other adventure, right?”

 

***

 

A figure smiled impishly from a vantage spot in the brush nearest the river. Arms crossed as a haughty sigh was given. The smile faded into a soft-eyed stare out at the water.

The trio weren’t the subtlest of trackers, and so an eye was kept on them as they traipsed to the campsite. If harm was in their intentions, retribution would be doled out most readily. And so, biding time, the figure waited until they were at their most vulnerable… but what happened next was quite the surprise.

Humans were always noisy when they mated.

On top of that, the things that they had _said_ to the shorter man _…_ It was almost enough to elicit a blush. Despite that, it seemed the men were all in good spirits now, especially the shorter man—the recipient of the other two’s desires.

It was curious.

He had left the tent, unabashedly fully nude, and strode into the water to clean himself of the evidence of this forest tryst.

Perhaps, she decided, she would let these three give chase. To enjoy the thrill of being pursued for the first time in many a decade. And she would see what it was, exactly, they wanted out of her.

And with that, she turned away from the bathing man, slithering back into her forest to allow the trio their privacy. As she slipped into the darkness, her silver pendant glinted in the light of the full moon.


End file.
